


don't leave

by snottygrrl



Series: return series [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AWDT Prompt, M/M, Mpreg, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-13
Updated: 2006-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snottygrrl/pseuds/snottygrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>draco's hormonal and wishing for harry</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't leave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chinae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinae/gifts).



> **warnings:** mpreg  
>  **disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
>  This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.  
>  **author's notes:** this was written for the awdt prompt _"i saw the way s/he looked at you"_. it is set in the world of _return_ , which is an mpreg told in first person with hints of former hp/gw (how many more fic!hates could i fit in do you think? sorry, no sudden switching of pov). anyway, i've done two short pieces in this verse, and was asked by [](http://chinae.livejournal.com/profile)[**chinae**](http://chinae.livejournal.com/) to continue, so this is for her. [part 1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/131393) takes place on Draco's bday, and the resulting, um, 'worshiping' gets draco in the family way. [part 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/131394) takes place many months later, and the below (part 3) takes place about now, right before Draco is due. i wanted to write more, but the boys aren't behaving tonight, so this will have to do for now.

I sit in my flat eating ice cream out of the carton and feeling miserable.

I wonder if you'll come over to talk after you've finished your duties at the Ministry as The Poster Boy Who Lived. Come over to cajole me. To try and get me to return home with you.

Though my Malfoy pride blanches at the admission, I fervently hope you do.

When I stormed out of your flat last night, flinging the key at your feet – that same key you gave me nearly nine months ago – I didn't want to hear it. But waking alone, without your warmth beside me, spending the entire day with naught but my pregnant belly and my hormones for company has given me plenty of time to think. I'm still hurt and angry, but I already know what it's like to be without you and I don't really want to experience it again, despite my protests to the contrary.

I'm even more loathe to allow _her_ to come between us once more, especially since it 's what I know she wants. I saw the way she looked at you when she asked if you'd have lunch with her today. Saw the triumph in her smile when you said yes. It took all my years of training to maintain my bored expression and casually walk away by your side, when all I wanted was to rage and rail at both of you. Instead, I let my ire simmer for the remainder of our trip in Diagon alley, waiting until we were in the privacy of your flat before I lashed out.

I thought your shocked look and vow that you were only doing it for us -- only going to make it clear she'd better back off -- were Slytherinesque dissembling. But re-examining it in the cold light of day has led me to conclude that it's quite possible it's your Gryffindor side that's charging forward to protect what's yours. I smirk at the idea of you growling at the Weaselette, before sobering at the realisation of just how deep my desire is for it to be more than the baby that you consider yours.

Taking another scoop of ice cream, I try to pretend that I'm not shaken by the thought that my actions last night might have hurt you beyond repair. I tell myself that the fluttering in my stomach is caused by the movements of the fetus, not by the fear that you may have decided not to tell the She-Weasel to take a hike after all. I resist the urge to floo to every restaurant in Diagon Alley looking for the pair of you and beg for the key back.

Pouring more chocolate sauce into the carton, I draw on ingrained indifference and settle back to wait out the afternoon.


End file.
